


give me the road (the wide winding highway)

by landfill_lady



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Rating May Change, Road Trip, Slow Burn, aftermath of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-03 12:39:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8714290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/landfill_lady/pseuds/landfill_lady
Summary: The man in the blue coat finds Credence again a week after his death, sitting at the bar of a small, filthy speakeasy in the Lower East Side.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> because every fandom needs a road trip fic!  
> rating may go up as story progresses.
> 
> also [credence is canonically eighteen](http://www.seacoastonline.com/news/20161110/miller-continues-to-open-and-walk-through-all-kinds-of-entertainment-doors) k bye

The man in the blue coat finds Credence again a week after his death, sitting at the bar of a small, filthy speakeasy in the Lower East Side.

Credence notices him out of the corner of his eye as the man slips onto the bar stool to his left - it’s hard not to, between the bright hue, the riot of freckles, and the battered, twine-wrapped suitcase he slides under his seat. (Is it… moving?)

Credence ignores him in favor of draining what’s left of the drink in front of him. If he’s here to arrest Credence, or kill him again, the man can damn well wait a few minutes. _Shame on you, boy,_ Mary Lou scolds in his head. _Godless language is the first step to sin._

Credence ignores her too, focusing instead on the feel of the cool glass between his calloused palms. Credence doesn’t really like alcohol, he’s discovered, but he likes the lazy, buzzing feeling it leaves behind, and the petty satisfaction of doing something Ma would never have approved of. Plus the burn of cheap liquor sliding down his throat is a welcome distraction from the beast still growling around his insides.

The man sitting next to him waits patiently as Credence finishes drinking and sets down his glass before extending a hand in greeting. “Hello again, Credence,” he says, voice warm but tentative. “My name is Newt Scamander. It’s nice to meet you properly.”

Credence keeps ignoring him, signalling the bartender jerkily for another glass of whatever’s cheap and strong. To his credit, Mr. Scamander doesn’t push into Credence’s space, doesn’t take his hand by force and make him meet his eyes. He just sits there, a small frown creasing his forehead as he watches Credence’s hands shake against the stained wood of the bar.

“He bothering you, honey?” the bartender asks as she refills his glass, inclining her head towards Scamander. Credence shakes his head quickly. 

Mr. Scamander is a witch, after all, and although he seems pleasant now, there’s no telling what he might do if she tried to confront him.

“Are you here to take me in?” Credence asks finally, peering at Scamander out of the corner of his eyes. The words feel funny in his mouth.  _ Take me in -  _ it sounds like something an outlaw would say in one of those ragged little paperbacks Modesty used to hide under her bed. But he is an outlaw now, isn’t he? A murderer, even.

Credence takes a gulp of his drink. It doesn’t erase the taste of bile from the back of his throat, but it does provide a welcome distraction from it. 

Next to him, Mr. Scamander shakes his head. “I’m not with MACUSA, Credence.”

Credence decides to believe him. He’s British, for one thing, and he also lacks the professional demeanor that both Mr. Graves and Ms. Goldstein both exuded. Still, the fact that he’s not MACUSA doesn’t mean that he’s on Credence’s side.

“W-what do you want f-from me, then?” Credence asks, voice as brave as he can make it.

“I’m here to help you, Credence.” Mr. Scamander's eyes are sincere, but so were Mr. Graves' when he told Credence he was important, was  _special._ Credence hardens his jaw, and decides not to trust him.

“Why?” 

Scamander looks surprised. “I want to help. Isn’t that enough?”

Credence shakes his head tightly. “I’ve h-heard that before, and it didn't turn out well. ”

Scamander deflates visibly, looking at a loss for words. After a couple of minutes' thought, he says, "Well, I suppose I'd quite like a hand caring for the animals. Is that enough of an ulterior motive for you?"

“M-magical animals?”

Mr. Scamander nods happily, looking as though he's back on surer footing. “Would you like to meet them?”

"Now?" Credence asks, gaping.

Newt glances around them, before darting his eyes down to the battered suitcase.  "Well, maybe somewhere a bit less public. I have a room in a hotel near here, if you wouldn't mind coming round for a bit. I could introduce you around?" The statement curls off like a question, and Credence bites his lip, deciding.

"All right. B-but just for a couple of minutes."

When Newt Scamander smiles, it’s like watching the sun rise.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes a while for Credence to make his way down the hall to room 302 - not because it's of any particular length, but rather because he keeps getting distracted by the moving wallpaper. By the time he reaches it, the door is open and Mr. Scamander is crouched in the middle of the floor, undoing the twine from around his battered suitcase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be a shorter chapter which covered more ground story-wise but asjffuidjkllldkrejbfhewbfhe;e;f WORLDBUILDING

After Credence spills the last of his meager savings out onto the countertop to pay for his drinks, Mr. Scamander leads him out of the speakeasy and down the shadowy street until they come to a large, crooked-looking brownstone.

Credence is shaky enough on his feet that he's begun to regret indulging, but thankfully Mr. Scamander doesn't seem to notice the irregularity in his steps. In fact, he has quite a strange, loping gait himself. Credence watches him walk with some interest until they reach the brownstone's doors, where he stops abruptly.

Mr. Scamander casts a furtive look at the empty street around them before pulling a long, polished twig out of his jacket-pocket, pointing it at the brownstone's double-doors, and muttering an odd little incantation under his breath. After a faint puff of smoke, the doors swing open of their own accord, spilling honey-colored light out into the street.

Mr. Scamander holds the front door open for Credence, which is unnecessary given the fact that they're standing open on their own, but sweet all the same.

"The Perching Phoenix," he explains under his breath as Credence walks inside. "Hard to imagine now, I know, but this used to be the finest wizarding inn this side of the Atlantic."

Inside, a roaring fire crackles in a large fireplace surrounded by a mismatched collection of overstuffed armchairs. An old woman in a pointed witches' hat sits cross-legged in front of the fireplace, holding an involved conversation with what looks like a head floating in the middle of the flames. Credence tries not to stare too obviously.

The concierge, a grizzled old man reading a battered copy of _The Practical Potioneer_ behind his desk, gives them a funny look as they walk past him to the elevator at the back of the lobby, but doesn't stop them. The iron grating pulls back of its own accord when Mr. Scamander stops in front of it, and Credence follows him inside, pulling it closed behind them.

"Floor?" a harsh, croaking voice asks. Credence starts rather badly; he hadn't noticed anyone else inside the car. After looking wildly around for a moment, his eyes land on a horridly ugly little creature standing next to the rows of elevator buttons. It has one long, knobbly finger poised over the buttons, and is looking rather balefully up at Credence and Mr. Scamander. A jaunty little red-and-black cap perches on its unappealing head.

"Floor?" it croaks again.

Mr. Scamander, who seems unfazed by the creature, begins digging through his pockets, cursing quietly under his breath. After a moment, he pulls his wand out again, points it at himself, and whispers, " _Accio keys._ "

There's a faint jingling noise, and a short length of purple ribbon flaps its way out of Mr. Scamander's trouser pocket. Attached to the end is a large bronze key with the numbers 302 emblazoned on it.

"Third floor, please," Mr. Scamander says, catching it. The creature grunts in agreement and presses a button which sets the elevator moving.

"Going down?" a tall individual in a black cloak asks hopefully when they reach the second floor, revealing a flash of pointed teeth. Credence shakes his head, trying not to meet its eyes, and it shrugs philosophically.

After a minute or so of more metallic creaking, the elevator comes to rest on the third floor, and the grate swings open with a dull screech.

Mr. Scamander steps out first, motioning for Credence to follow him.

"Thank you," Credence tells the elevator operator politely as he steps out into the hallway. It eyes him suspiciously.

"You try'na be funny, kid?"

"No," Credence says, bewildered. "I'm sorry if I o-offended you, sir."

"Yeah, sure," it says, looking at Credence as though he's the strangest thing it's seen all day.

"Credence!" Mr. Scamander calls from further down the hallway, and Credence turns to follow him. Behind his back, another awful metallic noise signals the departure of the elevator car.

It takes a while for Credence to make his way down the hall to room 302 - not because it's of any particular length, but rather because he keeps getting distracted by the moving wallpaper. By the time he reaches it, the door is open and Mr. Scamander is crouched in the middle of the floor, undoing the twine from around his battered suitcase.

"Mr. Scamander-" Credence begins, a million questions vying for position on his tongue.

"Newt, please," the man says distractedly. "Would you mind closing the door, Credence?"

Credence does so; the lock _clicks_ shut by itself. When he turns back around, the last of the twine is unknotted, and Mr.... Newt is looking back at him, hands poised on the suitcase's clasps.

"Are you ready?" he asks, grinning, and flips the lid of the suitcase up.

Credence isn’t sure what he’d expected, exactly - perhaps for a flame-winged phoenix to burst out, or a talking black cat walking daintily on its hind legs - but it certainly isn’t for Newt to step _into_ the case, disappearing from view step-by-step as though he's walking on near-vertical stairs.

After a couple more steps, even the crown of his head has disappeared from view.

"Coming?" his voice calls faintly from below. Credence takes a deep breath, steadies his nerves, and follows him down. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the [orphanage](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_York_Foundling) credence mentions is a real place & adopted a TON of kids out to catholic families in the early 1900's! not sure they would have given credence to a single ma who may/may not have been exactly catholic but w/e, story.
> 
> also, don't you even TRY to tell me that nyc doesn't have a bunch of funky little wizard hotels scattered all over the place :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence has only been to the zoo once, when he was a very little boy, but the air inside Mr. Scamander's suitcase smells exactly like his memories of it. The earthy mixture of dung, raw meat, dander, and animal musk isn't pleasant, exactly, but it smells like strange things, and far-off places, and adventure. Credence decides he likes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy holidays everyone! have some neurodiverse magical cinnamon rolls :)

The smell is what hits him first. Credence has only been to the zoo once, when he was a very little boy, but the air inside Mr. Scamander's suitcase smells exactly like his memories of it. The earthy mixture of dung, raw meat, dander, and animal musk isn't pleasant, exactly, but it smells like strange things, and far-off places, and  _adventure._ Credence decides he likes it.

After a disconcerting few moments walking downwards on the odd magical stairs, he reaches the bottom of the suitcase. Mr. Scamander is standing in front of him at the foot of the stairs, looking for all the world like a young father about to show his baby to a stranger: proud, protective, and nervous all at once.

"Would you like me to show you around?" he asks, sweeping a gangly arm out to indicate the span of the chamber. Credence nods, scarcely trusting himself to speak; the space inside the suitcase is huge, more than large enough for Credence to get lost, and absolutely _filled_ with fantastical creatures. Mr. Scamander smiles at his wide eyes and begins walking at a brisk clip, beckoning Credence to follow him with one freckled hand.

First, Mr. Scamander leads them to a small tree full of moving twigs tucked away in one corner of the chamber. As they approach it, a spindly green creature crawls out of his pocket and down his arm. Newt holds his hand out towards the tree encouragingly, but the creature on him shies away from it, scuttling back to its place in his jacket pocket.

"These little fellows are Bowtruckles," Newt says, smiling fondly at them. Pointing at each in turn, he names them for Credence: "Poppy, Marlow, Tom, Titus, and Finn. The antisocial bugger in my pocket is Pickett."

"Oh. Hello," Credence tells them gravely. He's not sure if they can even understand English, but it always pays to be polite. Mr. Scamander nods approvingly at him, so that's something, at least.

"They like you," Newt says, smiling at Credence. "Word to the wise, though: don't try petting them unless their mouths are full. Bowtruckles have a nasty bite."

After that, there's a whirlwind of ethereal, outlandishly-named creatures: some small and sweet, like the saucer-eyed mooncalves, and others, like the nundu, downright horrifying. By the end of the tour, Credence's head is spinning, and he feels certain that he'll only end up remembering about a quarter of the names and scattered bits of advice.

He sinks into a close-by chair as Mr. Scamander goes to feed the occamies, paying him no mind. As Credence stares at his feet, trying to get his breathing under control, a glowing blue tentacle curls around his left ankle. Credence watches it, fascinated; it's connected to a glowing, blue-and-pink creature which seems to be trying to climb into his lap.

The creature coos soothingly at him, using one cool tendril to smooth over his furrowed brow while another swipes gently at the overwhelmed tears pooling in his eyes. Credence reaches a hand down to it; it coos again, louder this time. He scoops it up tentatively and it nestles comfortably the crook of his arm, tentacles ghosting comfortingly over his back.

Sitting in the rickety chair, surrounded by the sounds and smells of unfathomable creatures and cuddling with an animal that looks like it crawled straight out of  _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea,_ Credence feels strangely, overwhelmingly at home.

When he looks up next, Mr. Scamander is watching him hold the creature with wide, shocked eyes.

"Am I d-doing something wrong?" Credence asks him, nervous from the attention.

"No, not at all," Newt says, biting his lip. "Sorry, it's only - she doesn't like people, usually."

Credence looks down at where the creature is curled in his arms, burbling contentedly. It doesn't  _seem_ shy.

"What's its - her name?"

"Cecelia," Newt says. He still looks a bit incredulous.

"Hello, Cecelia," Credence says quietly. "Thank you for cheering me up, you r-really helped me out. I think Mr. Scamander and I need to go back upstairs for a bit, now. Do you mind if I set you back down?"

Cecelia hoots despondently, and her tentacles tighten in childish resistance for a second, but she goes back to the ground without too much fuss.

As Credence and Newt walk back to the stairway, she watches them, waving a tentacle good-bye. Credence returns the gesture, smiling so hard it's almost painful.

"How long will you be in New York?" he asks as soon as they're back in the hotel room, hoping against hope that he can come back and see Mr. Scamander's wonderful creatures again.

"I leave tomorrow," Newt says.

Credence's heart plummets abruptly. "Oh. So you're going back to England?"

Newt shakes his head.

"I was meant to go back to London last week to deliver my manuscript to my publisher, but I'm pushing it back a couple of months. My experience with North American beasts outside of captivity is so small, and I've finally got MACUSA's permission to travel the country and conduct field research. There are a couple more tales I'd like to investigate before I leave."

"W-where are you going first?" Credence asks. Mr. Scamander's answering smile is full of childlike glee.

"Well, Credence, have you ever heard of the Jersey Devil?"

Credence looks dubiously at him. "You don't th-think it's  _real?_ "

Newt's mouth quirks, but he doesn't look upset by Credence's disbelief. "I'll never know for certain if I don't look, will I? I'm taking the ferry to New Jersey tomorrow morning."

After a moment, he adds a quiet and hopeful, "Would you like to come with me?"

Credence should refuse: he's never been out of New York City in his life, and what's more, there's no way to know that Mr. Scamander is as nice as he seems, or what his true motives are. Credence  _knows_ he should say no.

He says, "Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry but no way in HELL am i calling that thing a "marmite".
> 
> also: I HAVE A SERIOUS PROBLEM WITH IMAGERY-RICH RUN-ON SENTENCES. don't hold it against me too much, i'm trying my best to change. and i know this chapter is super inconsistent about referring to newt as newt/mr. scamander - it's meant to be an intentional depiction of how credence isn't really sure how to refer to him as yet, but it definitely doesn't read super-smoothly at present, and i'll probs do a bit of a fixer-upper when i go back and re-edit. for now, try to suffer through it! x

**Author's Note:**

> title from [singin' a vagabond song](https://youtu.be/V95TuK07QiI)  
> (it's newt as hell, you should go listen to it)!


End file.
